


The Object Lesson

by clarkescrusade (alindy)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 05:42:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4008010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alindy/pseuds/clarkescrusade
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Clarke teases Bellamy, telling him she has no idea how he ever managed to bed girls their first month on the ground, Bellamy makes it his mission to show her just how wrong she is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Object Lesson

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Bellarke, object lesson: Clarke jokingly asks what Bellamy said/did to get all those girls to sleep with him in their first month on the ground.

Bellamy is cutting firewood, shirtless and dripping sweat while she forces herself to gather as many plants as she can, when she says it. He’s been ranting about Greek vs. Roman mythology for nearly ten minutes, content to list off all he has to say as Clarke throws in only the occasional comment, and as he releases a particularly dramatic huff, Clarke finds she can’t contain the laughter that pulses out of her, rich and sharp.

“Why are you laughing?” Clarke shakes her head at him, rolling her eyes because for some reason she can never seem to stop herself from doing it around him.

“You’re just such a  _nerd_.” Bellamy huffs again and Clarke feels a puerile giggle float out of her, surprising them both with the sweetness of it. “I can’t seem to imagine how in the world you got all those girls to sleep with you that first month is all.”

The instant the words are out of her mouth, a smirk spreads across his face that has her regretting ever uttering the phrase. It’s practically feral, and Clarke knows that whatever Bellamy has planned it’s wickedly dangerous. His eyes trail slowly over her, dragging over her like she’s a statue he’d spend hours staring at, like every inch of her is worth keeping his eyes there for a little too long. Wherever his eyes go, Clarke feels a heat follow, her skin sizzling as he eyes her headily and approaches.

“Oh princess,” Bellamy begins, the nickname flowing out of his mouth like honey, “you just started a game you really shouldn’t have.”

“Oh yea?” Clarke swallows and it feels deafening in her ears. “And what game is that?”

Bellamy’s eyes are locked on hers as his hand comes up and trails slowly over Clarke’s arm. Her lips purse the slightest bit at the action, but she doesn’t shift out of his way. “Just going to prove you wrong again.”

“It wasn’t a challenge, Bellamy.” Clarke finally comes to her senses, snapping her body out of his reach. His smirk grows, his mouth staying closed as he turns away from her and moves back to the firewood.

Clarke isn’t even all that sure what just happened, what’s  _going_ to happen, but she is sure of one thing.

She is so royally  _fucked_.

* * *

Clarke swears she feels his eyes on her before she even sees him, and if her instinct is anything to go by, she’s fairly certain he’s staring at her ass.

“Eyes forward, Blake, or I’ll burn them out of that pretty little head of yours. Understood?”

Clarke turns to find that ever present smirk sitting right where she’d left it, a touch of amusement hanging there too. “Can’t blame a man for enjoying the view.”

“Oh, I most certainly can.” Clarke crosses her arm, ignoring the way Bellamy choses to brush against her on his way to the examination table. He reaches to the back of his shirt, pulling it slowly up and off of him, tossing it to the ground. Clarke’s seen him shirtless before, sure, but there’s something about the way the fabric slides over his tanned abdomen that makes her clear her throat and purposefully look away.

“Got a cut, think it might need a stitch or two… mind checking it out?”

“It is my job.” Clarke notices the cut on his left pectoral now that she’s not ogling his bare skin, stepping closer as she grabs the thread. “Please tell me you didn’t injure yourself just so you could come in here and take your shirt off.”

“Of course not.” Bellamy’s eyes stay trained on Clarke as she works and it feels uneasy, heavy, weirdly  _vulnerable_. “I’m not above using it to my advantage, though.”

The cut only needs a single stitch, Clarke tying it off and placing a small bandage over the wound. Before she can step back and away, Bellamy’s hands are grabbing on to her own, eyes marveling over them as he traces his fingers over her skin.

“Why are you fondling my hands?” she questions. It’s been too long since she’s had any physical contact, she realizes too late, and Bellamy’s eyes and fingers and bare skin is making Clarke’s life increasingly difficult. He’s far too aesthetically pleasing for his own good, but Clarke is a strong woman who is far too smart to fall for Bellamy’s shit… she hopes. 

“They’re just softer than I thought they’d be, so delicate.”

“Does that really work on girls?” Bellamy’s eyes snap to her face, hurriedly looking over her like he’s trying to answer something he’d never realized had been a question until just that moment, clearing his throat and looking away a second later. He brings her hands up to his lips, kissing each one softly before standing up and putting himself far too close in her personal space.

Bellamy leans forward, a hand falling naturally to her hip as his mouth comes right to the side of her face. “You’d be surprised. Thank you, princess.” The words ghost over her ear, his breath sending a shiver down her spine, and before she can fully comprehend the nearness of him he’s already pulling back and giving her a kiss on the cheek before smoothly picking up his shirt and leaving the room.

Clarke may or may not stand frozen in her spot, watching the doorway with confusion until someone limps in three minutes later. But if she does it’s totally not because of Bellamy Blake and the confusion she’s suddenly feeling whenever he’s around.

Totally not.

* * *

“Clarke!” Raven waves at her from across the wide expanse of ground by the gate, heading in her direction as soon as she notices the other girl. “So… is there a reason Bellamy has been asking me for your schedule the last week?”

“That’s how he’s known where I’ve been every day!” Clarke exclaims, her eyes widening comically large. “The bastard’s been drilling you for information.”

“Woah, what the hell is going on Griffin?”

Clarke sighs. “I called him a nerd and questioned his manhood or something because now he’s making it his personal mission to show me just how he wooed all those poor, poor girls our first month on the ground. The last week he’s basically been being too touchy, showing up wherever I am and being shirtless for a plethora of questionable reasons, and somehow managing to look at me like I’m both meat but also respectable at the same time? Like it’s really weird and I am struggling Raven, like  _struggling_.”

“Woah, deep breath. When was the last time you had sex?” Raven replies, her voice full of understanding. Clarke groans, her hands pushing into her face and running through her hair.

“Too long. His body is like a hamburger and I’m so  _hungry. So. Hungry_.”

“I know this isn’t going to be what you want to hear, but why don’t you just sleep with him? Get all the tension out of the way and scratch that itch.”

“Oh, trust me when I say I’ve thought about it, but the whole sex thing would be ruined by his stupid, smug smirk of satisfaction. I’m not losing this one, Raven, I can’t.”

“I get that, but I’m just saying fucking Bellamy Blake is one hell of a consolation prize.”

Clarke pauses, clearly ingesting the words, but her face turns sour at the thought of giving in. “I can’t.”

“Well have you thought about turning the tables on him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean right now he has all of the cards in his hands. You’re sexually frustrated and can do nothing but push off his advances, but if you throw it back into his face? Beat him at his own game? Then he’s in just as much pain as you are.”

Clarke pauses, letting the words sink in before a grin creeps wide across her face. “Raven Reyes I think I might just be in love with you.”

“Certainly not the first.” Raven laughs, even more so as Clarke lunges forward and gives her a hug before moving away, probably to get started as quickly as she can manage. “Griffin!” Clarke halts, turning over her shoulder and eyeing Raven expectantly. “For christ’s sake, make sure to use your  _assets_ , ok?” Raven motions obviously with her eyes to Clarke’s boobs, another chuckle escaping at the eureka moment that flashes across Clarke’s face. Clarke yells another thank you, this time jogging away even faster.

She’s got a lot of work to do.

* * *

As it turns out, Bellamy is not difficult to find. All Clarke has to do is ask Octavia who happens to be conveniently sitting only a few yards from her own tent and then her words lead her straight to him. It’s basically  _fate_ , and the ease puts Clarke into an incredibly optimistic mood.

“Blake!” she calls, her eyes flitting over the guns him and Miller are currently loading up. His eyes shoot up at the sound of her voice, clearly taking a double take as he notices the low neckline of her shirt. “Are you two hunting?”

“No,” Miller speaks up, watching the two of them and the palpable tension warily and full of curiosity. “We think it’s possible a new grounder tribe has moved in camp about a half day from here and we’re going to go do some recon.”

“Count me in,” she declares, reaching forward and grabbing a gun from the table. Before she can take out the clip to see just how full it is, Bellamy’s hand is on hers, halting her actions.

“No can do, Clarke, you’re staying here.”

It’s the first time Bellamy has actually spoken normally to her in nearly a weak and Clarke has almost forgotten how much she loves the sound of his voice, sure and commanding (that is when he wasn’t being a bossy asshole, which she was fairly sure he was going to be in only a few seconds time). Every time she’s talked to him recently it’s been whispers and croons and  _purring_  – Clarke has kinda missed talking to Bellamy without any pretense, just the two of them.

She shuts that thought down as quickly as she can manage, because if she really thinks about it,  _really_ , then she has to acknowledge that whatever is sitting between the two of them might be more than pent up aggression and a need for release, pure primal needs. Clarke might just have  _feelings_  for the asshole and she is so not ready to accept that.

“Why is that, exactly?”

“You’re a distraction and another pair of feet. We need to be quiet.”

“Distraction?” Clarke exclaims, her eyebrows raising. “I’m sorry you’re having a hard time thinking about anything besides my boobs right now – you can stop looking at them, by the way, my face is up here – but I’m going to go crazy if I don’t get out of this camp for at least a little bit. You’re stuck with me.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant.”

“Don’t care, you’re still stuck with me.”

“Just let her come, Bellamy,” Miller argues. Bellamy sends him a glare, but he doesn’t question it further and Clarke is sure she’s won this one.

“Fine, but you’re going to regret that,” Bellamy whispers, moving closer with every word. His hand reaches up to cup her cheek, his eyes on her like she’s wearing nothing at all and she has to force her breaths in and out to survive.

Clarke snaps out of it, smiling coyly up at him. “We’ll see.”

Miller mumbles something about this whole thing being fucked up, but Clarke ignores it. Sending a heated wink in Bellamy’s direction, she shoves the gun in the back of her pants and goes to get her pack.

They head out wordlessly ten minutes later, walking without much conversation for about an hour before they run into the pile of boulders in their path. Miller crawls up on to it with ease, surprising Clarke with his agility. Bellamy does the same, slipping up like it wasn’t even the slightest bit difficult, but as Clarke tries to make her way across she finds herself slipping much more than the other two.

“You’re going to kill yourself,” Bellamy grumbles. His eyes light up and a smirk spreads over his lips, taking a step closer to her. “Why don’t I help you with that.”

His arm comes around her waist, guiding her, and he makes a point of breathing close to her, ghosting over her ear and hair. He radiates heat next to her, and Clarke tries her best to think of some way to shift this situation.

Bellamy jumps back down to the Earth before turning around for her, and Clarke sees her chance. She rests her hands on his shoulders, allowing him to grab on to her waist, and as he lowers her she makes sure to let her whole body run down him, standing far too close as her feet hit the Earth. She reaches up, pulling some hair behind her ear, and she licks her lips slow. There’s something oddly empowering about the quickening of his breath and his eyes trained on her.

“Keep it moving!”

Miller’s yell breaks them out of the trance, stepping away from each other and continuing on their way. Clarke can’t help but think about Bellamy’s gaze, the way he felt so sure next to her and how, for one brief moment, she could have sworn he actually meant it.

Clarke shook the thought away before it could do any more damage.

* * *

It’s been two weeks and Clarke is going crazy. Partially because all of this sexuality is making her drown in tension and need, but also because she truly  _misses_  Bellamy. She misses their discussions about history and walking next to each other without having him make a move on her and the way he rolls his eyes like she’s the most ridiculous thing in the entire world.

Raven tells her to end it, and she’s not all that sure how that can actually happen at this point, but she figures she might as well give it a try. That’s why Clarke finds herself on Bellamy’s bed, sitting on the edge and leaning back on her hands, waiting for him to walk in any minute. She hasn’t  even thought through why exactly she’s in there, but it’s too late to back out as she hears his footsteps.

“Clarke,” he exclaims, voice thick with surprise. She half smiles at him, leaning forward and eyeing him through her eyelashes.

“Hi. I just wanted to see what you were up to.” Clarke winces a little internally at the cover up, but Bellamy doesn’t seem to notice anything as he sits down far too close next to her.

“I’m glad,” he replies, his hand coming up to push some hair behind her ear. Clarke watches his eyes flicker to her lips and she’s fairly certain she’s never wanted anyone to kiss her so badly before in her entire life. “You are… so beautiful.”

There’s an awe to his voice that breaks her heart, makes her snap her eyes shut and soak in the words. His voice sounds so genuine, so filled with love she could very nearly swear he meant it. His hands cup her face entirely, a thumb moving tantalizingly slow over her skin and suddenly everything,  _all_  of it, is just too much.

“You were right.” Her voice is barely above a whisper as she opens her eyes, delicate hands coming up to her face and covering Bellamy’s, pulling them carefully away. Bellamy’s eyes narrow in concern, his hands falling to his lap.

“What?”

“I started a game I really shouldn’t have.”

“Clarke-”

“I think I should go.” She’s halfway to the door when her feet stop moving and her breath quickens, thinking about the last few weeks. It’s futile to deny any longer that Clarke loves Bellamy Blake, it’s nearly as ingrained in her now as much as her own name, and despite the fact that this part of her will regret what she does next when Bellamy gives up this game and looks at her like a friend again, she turns back around anyway. “Fuck it.”

Bellamy is surprised as she pushes him back into the bed, wasting no time in straddling him and pulling his face to hers. She attacks his lips hungrily, greedily, inhaling every part of him she can because he’s the worst and best drug she’s ever been addicted to and she’s fairly certain she’s never going to be able to wean herself off of him. She runs a tongue over his mouth, nibbling at his bottom lip the slightest bit before he grants her entrance.

His hand tangles itself within her hair, the other one holding her soundly at the hip, and he holds her both like she’s fragile and she’s unbreakable at the same time. Her right hand grasps pathetically on to his shirt, the left holding his jaw in place. A groan rolls from Bellamy’s mouth and fuck if that’s not the hottest thing Clarke’s ever heard.

“Bellamy,” she breaths out between kisses, his name falling from her lips like a broken prayer. As she moves in for more, Bellamy holds her back, his eyes trained intensely on hers.

“You have to want me.”

“I thought it was obvious.”

“No, Clarke,” Bellamy begins, willing her to get it. His eyes plead for her to understand and Clarke gets it, 100%, because he means want in the same way she means it. Clarke wants, wants with all of her being for everything that Bellamy Blake could offer if he felt the same, and suddenly she’s starting to think he just might. “You have to actually want me, I can’t fuck you and forget it. All or nothing.”

“Bell,” she answers, and Clarke’s never called him it before but it feels right slipping out from between her lips, “I want all of you. For as long as you’ll have me I’m here.”

Bellamy smiles up at her, radiant, bright, blinding,  _beautiful_ , and the truth is that maybe Clarke lost this whole game, but right now it certainly doesn’t feel like it.

**Author's Note:**

> Fine me on tumblr: [castielscrusade](http://castielscrusade.tumblr.com/)


End file.
